hospital tent and left at the side of the sick man. Very soon after,
the Colonel, meeting the reverend officer pacing thoughtfully in the
open air, stopped and enquired as to the patient’s condition. Evidently
considerably embarrassed, the chaplain said “you did not tell me that
the man wanted baptism.” “Very true,” was the reply, “but why is that
any difficulty?” “Because,” rejoined the clergyman, hesitatingly, “I
am of the Baptist persuasion, and this is no case for immersion.”
It was very awkward, but the Colonel, who had thought only of a
chaplain as the proper officer for a present duty, apologized for his
want of thought, thanked the gentleman, and said that he would try
again, or if it became necessary, would himself administer the holy
rite. The chaplain, however, requested a few minutes for reflection,
at the end of which he decided to officiate himself and did so, first
taking the precaution to enquire of the soldier whether he preferred
immersion or sprinkling, the latter of which very naturally was
elected.
VI.
_THE ANTIETAM CAMPAIGN._
Until September 12th, our Division remained at Upton’s Hill, while the
rest of the Army of the Potomac drew off into Maryland in observation
of General Lee, concerning whose movements no definite information
could for a time be obtained.
It was a favorite theory among the authorities in Washington that
General Lee would lead McClellan off into Western Maryland, and then
slip round into his rear and capture the aforesaid authorities. Of
course 80,000 men do not slip about such a country very easily, and of
course General Lee would never have dared to place his army between
the forts of Washington and the Army of the Potomac; but even such
absurd fears required consideration, and in addition to the artillery
garrisons in the forts and the new levies inside the defences, Morell’s
division was left for a time to watch the approaches to the Chain
Bridge, which was the weakest point in the defences of the city.
During these days the various corps of the army whose organization a
week before had been almost destroyed, were marching through the town
in columns of platoons, with their drums beating and colors flying,
their array as fine as it would have been on parade before they had
ever seen the enemy, and inspiring all who saw them to a happy augury
of the result of the first Maryland campaign.
On the 11th, our Division received orders to join the army in the field
with all possible speed, and on the 12th we folded our tents, and
took the route in the track of our comrades. As usual the start was
delayed until the sun was well up in the sky, and before we were out
of the District of Columbia the heat had become oppressive, and the
men, especially those of the new companies, were suffering greatly. Our
route was from Upton’s Hill past Fort Corcoran, through Georgetown and
Washington, and out by 7th street.
Early in the day came a circular order to be read at the head of
each company denouncing the penalty of death, without trial, as the
punishment for straggling, the utter absurdity of which was shown
by the fact that before nightfall one-third of the men had fallen
out of their ranks, the order to the contrary notwithstanding. The
old soldiers, happily, (or unhappily) had learned that the bark of
the orders was worse than their bite, but the new recruits had the
impression, as yet, that orders meant what they said, and believed that
the officers would shoot down all those who faltered; consequently,
what between soldierly ambition and personal fear, the new men would
struggle on until they could do so no longer. The day was burning hot,
and the last hour before noon was chosen to give the command one pull
of three miles without rest; and when at last the bugle sounded “halt,”
not less than fifty of our men fell exhausted, fainting or sunstruck,
several of them raving with insane imaginings.
Although we tarried at this place for an hour or more, the Colonel
assuming the responsibility to fall out with his entire command, it was
found necessary at last to leave some twenty men who needed rest and
care, the greater part of whom were finally discharged from hospitals
disabled for service. Here, too, in order to lighten the march, a
quantity of knapsacks and blankets were left stored in a barn, but
before our teams could return for them the whole had been gobbled by
stragglers.
It was after dark when at last we halted for the night, and the
Adjutant’s returns showed that one of the new companies then numbered
three officers and seven men, and another no officers and one man[1]
present for duty. We bivouacked in columns of companies, and that one
man executed under his own command the company right wheel, dressed
his ranks, stacked his arm (by plunging the bayonet into the ground),
called the roll, broke ranks, supped, and slept the sleep of the just.
[1] Private Isaac W. Thurlow, of Methuen, afterward promoted to be
Lieutenant C. T.
The next two days’ march brought us, via Middlebrook, Clarksville, and
Hyattstown to Frederick; the weather, though clear, was not so hot as
on the 12th, the men were in better condition and, on the whole, we
gained in numbers. Many will remember our bivouac that Sunday evening
as the place where they indulged in a welcome bath in the clear waters
of the Monocacy river. All day on the 14th (Sunday), we heard heavy
firing, and on the 15th the sound of heavy guns at Harper’s Ferry
continued to assure us that our flag still was there, but its sudden
cessation at last told as plainly of the surrender.
Our march of the 15th and 16th, although rapid, was not exhausting;
the air was more autumnal, and we were cheered by the evidence of
the fact that we were the pursuers. Large numbers of rebel prisoners
passed us going to our rear. As we marched through Frederick we were
greeted with hearty cheers from civilians and the waving kerchiefs of
ladies, and children distributed ripe fruits, which were most welcome
to the bilious soldiers. On the South Mountain battle-field a detail
was burying the dead, and we saw many bodies in grey uniforms awaiting
burial. We had previously met and saluted the dead General Reno, borne
to the rear in an ambulance draped with the national colors.
As we passed over one of the mountain ridges, there broke upon our
sight a view such as New England cannot offer. A valley stretching
far away on either hand, everywhere divided into large fields of rich
farming lands, among which the homes of well-to-do farmers stood, with
groups of barns and granges and hay ricks gathered about them, the
whole testifying to the comfort and wealth of the inhabitants. At every
house there were words of welcome and cheer. The entire population
evidently was in sympathy with our cause, and their recent sight of
the retreating army of the enemy had evidently strengthened their
enthusiasm for his pursuers.
It was almost sundown on the 16th when we came up with the main body of
our army between Keedysville and Antietam Creek. The air was full of
smoke from the camp-fires, and the hillsides alive with the men, who
were making ready for their supper and their sleep. Our Division was
guided into the field assigned to us, and our men were soon deep in
similar preparations.
We knew that the hostile armies were now face to face, and that a great
battle was imminent. Curiosity led many to gather on the hilltops and
to look over what was to be the battlefield, to the crests of the low
hills on the opposite bank of the stream, where we could see the spires
of the little town of Sharpsburg sharply defined against the warm sky,
and the smoke from the rebel camp-fires glowing in the light of the
setting sun. A few well-directed shells from the enemy’s batteries
however, dulled our curiosity in that direction, and we turned to our
camps to see how an army looks upon the eve of a pitched battle.
The eastward slopes of the hills on the left branch of the Antietam
were occupied by the infantry of the army of McClellan, extending some
four miles from right to left. Near the tops of these hills a few
batteries of artillery were ready for use at a moment’s notice, but
more of them were below us, their horses feeding at the picket ropes,
the men busy about their supper.
Farther away to the rear the ammunition wagons were parked, those of
each division by themselves, and yet farther back the supply trains of
the different corps, and the reserve divisions of artillery and cavalry.
There was every show of complete readiness for the morrow, in the array
of the troops and the provision for the fight--but everything was busy
and cheery. As night fell the smoke became less dense, and the bright
light of a thousand glowing fires enlivened the scene. There was no
sign of haste or of anxiety; occasionally a mule sounded his trumpet
as a signal for more feed, and often the sound of horses’ feet was
heard as some officer or orderly galloped leisurely by; there was some
singing and much laughter heard from the various camps, and at last the
stirring but confused sound of the tattoo along the whole line from the
bugles of the distant cavalry and the neighboring artillery, and the
drums and fifes of the infantry of the line.
Then came gentle sleep, nowhere more grateful and welcome than in the
bivouac of the soldier on the night before the battle.
From dawn to dark no fairer sky was ever seen than that beneath which,
on the 17th day of September, 1862, was fought the battle of the
Antietam. It may be doubted whether there was in the history of our
civil war, any instance of a battle for which the preparation was on
both sides so complete, of which the field was more free and open to
the movements of the troops and the oversight of the commanders, or in
which the result depended so directly upon the ability of the generals
and the conduct of the troops, and so little upon purely accidental
occurrences.
The Confederate army occupied the crest of the rising ground which lies
immediately west of the Antietam, and between it and the Potomac. That
portion of this crest in which lay the left and the centre of their
army, was for the most part wooded and broken by outcropping ledges,
and through it ran roads whose fences and cuts afforded frequent
vantage ground for a defensive force. Their right was in an open
country, but one intersected by stone walls, and presenting on the side
toward the Union lines very abrupt declivities.
The left of our army (directly opposite the rebel right), were posted
on low hills, whose western sides were also steep and rough. Between
the two positions the gap was just sufficient for the passage of the
little river and for a narrow country road on either bank, and here the
stream was spanned by a stone bridge of three arches, since known as
Burnside’s bridge.
Nearly a mile above, over a similar bridge, the Sharpsburg turnpike
crossed the Antietam, cutting by a direct line the centres of both
armies. Lying across this road, east of the river, on commanding
ground, the corps of Gen. Porter held the centre of the loyal army,
connecting with Burnside on the left and with Sumner on the right. On
the right of the Union army was Hooker’s corps, on the west bank of the
stream, and almost in contact with the rebel left, occupying the ground
which they had won from the enemy at nightfall of the day before; both
parties in the same wood sleeping on their arms in line of battle.
Taken together, the positions of the two armies described a figure not
unlike the letter D, of which the curved portion may represent the
Union lines, and the straight part (which was in fact also curved),
those of the Confederates. Except at our left (the bottom of the D),
our army held both banks of the Antietam, and at both extremes the two
armies almost touched.
Standing among the guns of Porter’s batteries, about the centre of
the Union lines, one seemed to look down upon the field, the whole of
which, except the immediate vicinity of Burnside’s bridge, was open to
the view. Directly in our front the Antietam washed the base of the
hill, on the rounded summit of which the guns were placed, but from the
farther bank the land rose gently rolling to the lines of the army of
our enemy. Between us and the rebel centre were cleared fields, many
of them bearing crops of nearly ripened corn, bounded to the left by
steep hill-sides closing in to the river, but on the right running up
to a glade bordered by woodlands. In these woods, and in and over that
glade, occurred the severest struggles and the greatest slaughter of
this hard-fought battle. Near Porter’s lines, on yet higher land, the
headquarters of our army were established for the day.
Of the curving line of the union army, the left was the corps of
General Burnside, the centre the corps of General Porter, and the right
the corps of General Hooker; but in the rear of Hooker was the corps
of General Mansfield, and behind it that of General Sumner, while the
force of General Franklin, just up from Pleasant Valley, acted as the
reserve.
McClellan’s plan of the battle was to make the principal attack from
his right, but as soon as that was well engaged, to throw Burnside from
his left against the right of Lee, not absolutely as a real attack, but
by menacing the road to the ford which was Lee’s only line of retreat,
to occupy and divert certain portions of the Confederate army, and thus
reduce its power of resistance to the real attack upon the other flank.
By reason of the curvation of the line, our batteries in its centre
could reach effectively the whole extent of the front of the enemy from
left to right; and throughout the day, as opportunity offered, the guns
did good execution, and more especially upon our right where we could
annoy the rebel infantry while in the cover of the woods, and enfilade
them whenever they appeared in the open glade.
At break of day the rattling volleys of musketry on the right told
that Hooker was opening the great struggle. Soon occasional deep thuds
of his cannon were also heard, then nearer and more constant came
the sounds approaching from both wings, until our own batteries in
the centre joined in the din. Along the whole line gun for gun came
back--as if echoed from the other ridge--the voice of the invading army
from lips of bronze and iron, and its exploding messengers repeated in
our ears the arguments of war, until hundreds of heavy guns were united
in one deep quivering roar. And although there was rising and falling
in the sound, yet until nightfall the sound of battle never ceased.
Just across the creek the skirmishers of our corps showed like dotted
lines upon the fields; now and then we could see the smoke puff from
their rifles, although the sound was lost in that of the general
conflict. On the left, until afternoon, no movements were visible, but
across that open glade, far away on the right, the tide of battle ebbed
and flowed.
First from the edge of the woods on our side, appeared a ragged line
of men fleeing for their lives, and following them the solid front of
Hooker’s corps, firing as it followed.
The fugitives were three brigades of Jackson’s men, and the dark spots
before the advancing line were the first fruits of that harvest of
slaughter, whose winrows before nightfall traversed the whole of that
fatal glade.
Hooker’s men had nearly crossed the open ground when the whole of
Jackson’s corps burst from the western wood and met them in the open
field; Hooker against Jackson--that was the tug of war. No sign of
yielding could be marked on either side. Both lines became involved in
the smoke of their rifles, but whenever the breeze wafted the smoke
away, the reduced number of the combatants could be noted, and the
fringe of wounded men and their too numerous helpers, which always
hangs from the rear in the battle line, was constantly visible between
each body and its nearest sheltering wood.
There was no moment when this contest ended; no line was seen pursuing
or pursued, but little by little both melted away; and when all were
gone, out from the edge of the woods on either side belched the fire
and smoke of the batteries.
Now seven o’clock by Sharpsburg time. The scattered men of the broken
divisions of each army sought the friendly shelter of the lines which
were advancing to relieve them. Hood of Longstreet’s command, was
marshalling his brigades within the timber on the west, and Mansfield’s
corps was moving up through the rough woodland on the east, and for
a season the open space between was unoccupied save by the dead and
wounded, and the rolling, drifting smoke from the artillery.
The next movement visible to us was from the Confederate side, whence,
with a rapid rush, came the command of General Hood,--Texas, Georgia,
and Alabama men. In a few minutes they had crossed the open field in
the face of our guns, and although a portion of their line faltered,
yet another pushed even up to the line of our batteries, silencing
almost every gun. Mansfield had fallen, but his men were there, and
their rattling volleys showed that the enemy could get no foothold in
the wood, just in the edge of which the line of smoke hung steadily an
hour or more.
At nine o’clock the contest was for the moment ended by the advance of
Sedgwick’s division of Sumner’s corps, before which the southern troops
broke and fled over the glade to the cover opposite, and again our guns
opened upon their shelter.
Sedgwick’s division was the right of Sumner’s corps, and now between
it and us moved up from the Antietam the divisions of Richardson and
French, his left and centre. Unobserved by the enemy, we could see
them forming for the attack, and we watched with intense interest
their steady progress diagonally across our front. As they crossed the
summit of each rise, they came under the fire of the rebel batteries;
but our twenty-pounders playing over their heads, kept the rebel lines
crackling with shells, to the comfort of our friends and the confusion
of their foes. In each depression of the land Richardson and French
halted to dress their ranks, and then moved quickly on; and so they won
closer and closer to the enemy, until they were so near that the guns
of our batteries could not help nor those of the enemy hurt them. Here,
in a field of standing corn, they came upon the infantry of General
Hill, who, protected by fences and road cuttings, opened a galling
fire. Receiving but not answering this, Sumner’s divisions, aided by
horse batteries from Porter’s corps, dashed forward and secured these
defences for themselves, driving out the Confederate infantry on the
right, capturing or slaying them in the sunken road on the left. For a
few brief minutes the carnage was terrific.
Here Richardson and French, not without frequent contests, held their
advanced position all the day. We have described their movement as if
it had been an isolated one; but it was not so. The right of Sumner’s
corps, the division of “Old John” Sedgwick, was carrying everything
before it. It swept in solid form across the glade, and pushed out of
our sight into and through what we have called the western wood, and
into the open land beyond.
The violence of this attack outran discretion and the division found
itself out in the open fields with no support on either flank, and met
by fresh troops of the enemy. Falling slowly back it came into line
with the division of General French, but leaving a great gap between,
into which the advancing forces of the enemy hastened to drive a
cleaving wedge.
It was now one o’clock P. M., and we held the whole of the right and
centre of General Lee’s original position, but not firmly. Besides the
danger at the gap between Sedgwick and French, the latter was short of
ammunition and Sedgwick’s right was feeble.
At this time, most opportunely, McClellan ordered forward his
reserve, the corps of General Franklin; and that officer dividing
his command, closed up the threatened gap, re-inforced French’s line
and strengthened Sedgwick’s right, welding the whole to such tough
consistency that no further impression could be made. What we had won
we held.
Three o’clock in the afternoon and nothing seen of Burnside yet.
The most untutored of those who had watched the varying fortunes of the
field could see that if Lee’s right had been attacked while McClellan
was thus hammering on his left, either his right or left must have
yielded. We had seen troops moving from the one flank to reinforce the
other, until it seemed as if none could remain to hold the right. From
officers about the headquarters we knew that McClellan, in person, had
the night before advanced the division of Burnside’s corps close to the
bridge, and that he had told that general to reconnoitre carefully, in
readiness for attacking in the morning. We knew that at six o’clock he
had been ordered to form his troops for the assault upon the bridge,
and that at eight o’clock orders had been sent to carry the bridge,
gain the heights, and move upon Sharpsburg.
General McClellan himself looked not more anxiously for movement on the
left, than did we who saw the gallant fighting of the right; but five
hours had passed before the capture of the bridge by the twin 51sts of
New York and Pennsylvania, and since then two more of those priceless
hours had passed away. Oh! if Sheridan or our Griffin could but have
been commanding there.
The last peremptory order to advance and “not to stop for loss of
life” produced the wished-for movement, but it was too late and too
hesitating to accomplish great results.
When, at last, the heights were gained, the division of A. P. Hill had
arrived to reinforce the enemy, who could also spare something from in
front of our now-weakened right.
Burnside’s men fought well--gave only slowly back, and that not far.
Six battalions of regulars from our corps moved to the front, joining
the right of Burnside’s corps to the left of Sumner’s, and leaving
our (Morell’s) division, in the rear of the advanced line, the only
reserve force of McClellan’s army. One brigade was sent to the left to
strengthen Burnside, and at five P. M., our own, the last, was marched
toward the right, but the declining sun already showed that the contest
for the day must soon be ended. Just as it reached the horizon there
was one roaring _feu d’enfer_ along both lines, and almost of a sudden
the firing ceased, and the battle of the Antietam had filled its page
in history. It was an important victory. By it Washington, Maryland,
and Pennsylvania were relieved from menace and the country for a time
was grateful.
Just as it appeared to the looker-on the battle of Antietam has been
described. What happened, before our eyes has been told, without
digressions, and the digressions may now be added.
The battle-field was all day long bathed in sunshine; hardly one
cloud appeared to throw even a passing shadow over the fair autumnal
landscape, of which the background was made up of shadowed tracts of
woodland, and into which were introduced blocks of rough pasture,
lawn-like vistas, rolling fields of corn ready for the harvest, with
just enough of distant spire and nearer farmstead to add a look
of human comfort to the natural beauty of the scene. Although the
foreground and the middle distance of this picture were occupied by the
various combatants--killing and maiming--wounded and dying--there was
present to our sight no blemish of horror. We saw no ghastly wounds, no
streams of flowing gore; we heard no groans nor sighs nor oaths of the
struggle, and rarely did the sound even of southern yells or northern
cheers penetrate the massive roar of ordnance to reach our ears; and
yet before our eyes was fought a battle in which four thousand men were
slain, and fifteen thousand more were disabled by savage wounds.
So entirely were the sadder sights of bloody war excluded from our
minds, that when two men of our Regiment were badly wounded by the
accidental discharge of a falling rifle, the incident created almost as
much excitement as one like it might have done at a muster of militia
here at home.
It must not be imagined that any one of us stood throughout that
equinoctial day gazing upon the sunlit scene beyond the Antietam, for
in time even the terrible events of battle fall tamely upon eye and
ear. In the long pauses between the rounds of infantry fighting we sat
down upon the green sward and ate our lunch, or strolled away to talk
with the staff officers about the headquarters, or over to one of our
other brigades to discuss the incidents of the action, or to hear or
tell the news of its latest casualties.